Category Archives: tzaddik stories

Stories of the tzaddik, as I remember him. Or stories about others, that serve as a reminder of just how tzaddik the tzaddik really was. As opposed to memories of Seymour Fromer, Director of the Magnes Museum, or his earlier incarnation as Seymour Fromer, Director of Jewish Education for Alameda and Contra Costa Counties. Or before that as —. You get the idea. These are my tales about my father — at home or abroad — under conditions in which he wasn’t a director of anything at all.

my father’s favorite boys

Fred and Harold and my dad were like the Marx Brothers. Or the Coen Brothers. Or the Brady Bunch. Or. Or. Or maybe there was nothing like them at all.  A team. A pack. A family. A coven.  A comedy … Continue reading

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malkah, magnes, and the military police

Malkah was at the Madrid airport, as wholesome as she could be. She had a husband with her and two squeaky clean children with her. And all their camping gear. And all her archives notes. And all her permissions to … Continue reading

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the tzaddik and the negotiator — a mother’s day meditation

Malkah was in such awe of the tzaddik that she spent most of her time with him asking questions, and nodding at the wisdom of his responses.  Of course, his responses generally started with the need to do more research. … Continue reading

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closure, or something like it — a kaddish for milton g. nobler

People say you need closure.  But does that mean that there are no more stories to be told? I woke up this morning with two imperatives: 1) a sense of real or imminent closure, and 2) the need to tell … Continue reading

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on the transmigration of souls (jewish deli style)

You wouldn’t think that the Jewish tradition was big on transmigration of souls — but it is.  I’m not even sure this concept is taught much anymore in more mainstream non-Orthodox and Hassidic circles.  But what do I know?   … Continue reading

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voices in the volvo

There’s something I really don’t like about finishing things.  Good at starting.  Good at ongoing.  Good at thinking about.  Finishing:  very depressing. So.  I had just finished organizing the entire program for a SWAA conference one year, along with two … Continue reading

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gypsy

I was sitting with Mrs Tzaddik this afternoon, in the glorious sunshine.  Light breeze.  Not too hot.  One of those rare perfect moments.  There too, was one of the caregivers, and my friend T, a large white male akin to … Continue reading

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the bookstore

So.  The bookstore the other day — One of Malkah’s favorite things to do on planet Earth was to go with the tzaddik on his frequent forays into the dark and gloomy bowels of used bookstores.   Holmes Books, in … Continue reading

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anyone who is hungry, let them come and eat

The tzaddik grew up in the Bronx, across from Yankee Stadium. That must say a lot about him, but I’m not sure what exactly. His family lived in a shvitzy little apartment, overcrowded with uncles and cousins and such. That … Continue reading

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bondage, sephardi style

I have heard this bit every single Pesach of my life when my mother has been present.  And when she wasn’t, I’ve taken it upon myself to tell it myself (albeit a short short version).  All my stories are the … Continue reading

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